She is the Sunlight
by Theblueeyedvampirearchive
Summary: A Season 5 episode re-write. Buffy has just learned the nature of Glory's power from the Watcher's Council and is doubting her ability to protect Dawn. When Glory's minions handicap her strength, she has no choice but to rely on Spike for help, and the two of them become trapped in the old treasure trove that held the Gem of Amara. Challenge Response. CONTINUED ON ELYSIAN FIELDS.
1. Chapter 1

**She is the Sunlight**  
by AGriffinWriter

 **Chapter 1: Stricken**

"She. Is. A. God!"

With each angry word, Buffy punched the newly risen vampire squarely in the face with all the force she could muster. On the fourth, she heard a resounding crack as the demon's jaw broke.

"A freaking god!"

Her front snap-kick hit him just below the left shoulder and sent him spinning backwards, yowling in pain and fury. That gave her plenty of room to dodge the flailing arms of the other newborn vampire lumbering toward her back, dirt still falling off in clumps from the man's burial suit.

"A skanky, spoiled, bitchy god!"

"What are you talking about?" demanded the second vamp, words slightly garbled by his mouthful of fangs.

"I… Nothing!"

Dodging the punch he threw at her, she sank her stake into the dirt-speckled vampire, spun away from the fountain of dust that remained, and brushed some sweaty hair out of her eyes. Rounding on the one she'd knocked down, she adjusted her grip on her stake, ready for the killing blow.

All day and into the night, thoughts and fears in response to the Council's revelation had been boiling inside her skull. How was she supposed to be as fast, and as strong, and as clever as a eons-old _god_? A _hell_ god, as if it couldn't get any worse.

She'd fought savagely tonight, for once embracing that Slayer-side of herself that _liked_ annihilating demons, anything to stop feeling helpless and insufficient. Rage-slaying was the closest thing she had to being able to release those feelings. Except maybe sex. Except that she didn't _HAVE_ any sex anymore because Riley had left the continent.

"My life sucks!" she yelled, driving her trusty stake through the chest of the still-yowling vampire and then continuing to shout at the dust-speckled grass. "Stupid tumors and stupid boyfriends and stupid sist—"

"The slayer. Alone at last."

The voice made Buffy whip around, stake raised once more. Standing at the edge of the cemetery plot was a short demon in a brown robe, its face mottled with pustules and scabs, its dark hair hanging lank around its face. In one hand it held a thick book, and in the other a bubbling goblet glowed with purplish light. Several nearly identical demons stood behind the speaker, partly obscured by the streetlight-free shadows.

"Oh, _you_ guys again," she scoffed, recognizing the demons as Glory's pimple-ridden minions, the same ones had broken into the zoo's snake exhibit. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you might want to ease up on the exfoliating scrubs."

"At last you have learned the true nature of our magnificent mistress, Glorificus."

"Hmm… skanky and evil?"

The minions shuddered like sheltered first-graders overhearing a horrible swear word.

"Do not speak of our great and glistening Glorificus with such heresy!" said a second minion, its voice a bit squeakier.

"We did not come here to trade words with you, Slayer," said the first little demon, taking a cautious step toward Buffy.

"No?" she retorted. "Just out for a midnight walk, huh?"

"No." He let his book fall open to a marked page, and the goblet started fountaining a neon purple smoke, blossoming over the lip of the cup and running down the minion's arm and robe. "We have come to kill you."

One blonde brow rose skeptically, and her hand tightened on her stake. A sharp, cheese-like smell drifted to her nose from whatever potion was in that goblet.

"Um, sorry boys, I don't accept drinks from strangers."

Several of the demons guffawed in throaty voices.

"Naïve Slayer," the head demon chuckled, "you do not need to _drink_ it. How stupid do you think we are?"

And before she could leap out of the way, he lashed out with the cup, causing the vivid purple liquid to splash over her clothes and clump her hair into a foamy mess.

Buffy shrieked – not from pain, but from the heat of the chemical searing into her skin – and tried desperately to wipe it off. Her clothes looked like she'd been to a lousy rave, but wherever the fluid had touched her skin, it had vanished from sight, leaving its cheesy smell and residual heat.

Then she _felt_ it. The chemical was _in_ her, writhing just under her skin, worming its way through her bloodstream and throughout her body like a hundred tiny snakes thrashing in her veins. Her knees gave out, and she landed in the grass with a soft _thump_ , shaking her head to try and rid herself of the dizzying sensation.

"W-what the hell?!"

"Be stricken, Slayer," said the lead minion. He dropped the empty goblet and reverently lifted the book with both hands. "Be bereft of your strength. Our incomparable Mistress shall take back her Key, and her days of glory shall be restored!"

"You… weren't e-even going for a pun with that," Buffy panted, staggering to her feet and taking several unsteady steps back as she continued to swipe at her arms, the invisible slime still stinging just beneath her skin. _Stricken? My strength? What have these little freaks done to me?!_

Something unyielding collided with her leg, and Buffy fell on her backside in the grass, startled by nothing more sinister than a small headstone that she'd tripped over. A simple stumble, a second of disorientation, and already her heartbeat was thundering so loudly that she could barely see straight. The closest she'd felt to this sensation was the drug Giles had given her during her Cruciamentum, except that had involved gradual doses over several days and had never felt this disorienting, as though she'd forgotten how to stand or lift her limbs.

 _Have to get up. Have to get away. Dawn. Mom. Dawn. Mom…_

"Bring the hounds," said the minion, tucking the spellbook under his arm and stepping to the side.

The demons standing behind him parted, clearing a path into the darkness beyond. Buffy swallowed, feeling as though she was trying to move a chunk of rubber hose down her throat instead of a clog of spit. The night seemed _deeper_ than it had a moment ago, as though her vision was impaired as well as her balance.

But her _hearing_ seemed to be working just fine.

At first, the only sounds that emerged from the darkness were deep, vibrating growls, then the sounds of jaws gnashing together, throats thick with slobber…

 _"Oh god…"_

They were… dogs, she thought at first, but horribly enlarged, their shoulders high enough to be level with the face of an adult man. Multi-pointed antlers sprouted from the creatures' upper backs, and their heads had what appeared to be plumage or perhaps antennae made of long, sharp feathers. Each of the four beasts had six thick legs that ended in clawed paws, and they had spiked clubs instead of tails. It looked as though every surface of these creatures was made for gouging and shredding.

"Glory's pets have been very hungry," said the chatty minion. "They just can't find any meat in your dimension to suit their tastes. But I think… Slayer-steak will make the perfect feast. Release them!"

Buffy's scream got stuck halfway up her throat as she scrambled back to her feet and took off as quickly as her rubbery legs could take her. Each step was like wading through three feet of ice water, as though every blade of grass on the cemetery lawn had conspired to stop her. She forced her legs to move, one after another, wishing her ears could block out the terrible snarling and growling of the six-armed hellhounds as the noises grew closer and closer.

 _Have to run. Have to move. Oh god, oh god, oh god._

She could smell their breath, the pungent stench of rotting meat. And with every step she fled away they only got closer. By the light of the stars and the sparse streetlights in the graveyard, she watched their shadows loom larger by the second until all at once a weight that felt as heavy as a truck crashed down on her.

Buffy shrieked as she hit the ground with a rough _thunk_ , cracking her chin and tasting blood in her mouth. The growling and panting of the hellhounds was like thunder in her ears, closing in, a storm she couldn't outrun.

She lashed out with a kick that felt foreign to her, as though she was watching someone who had never had the strength and natural agility that came with being a Slayer. Her foot met the closest creature's face – not in the nose or tooth or eye as she'd intended, but in the semi-soft area on its cheek, knocking its head slightly to one side. The barbed feathers on its forehead slashed through the suede of her boots and into her skin, but she barely felt it. Between her adrenaline and the white-hot pain from the mystery goop, she didn't have room in her brain to feel anything else.

Even though her kick couldn't have hurt the beast very much, it seemed surprised, hanging back and circling as though to reevaluate its plan of attack. The others stalled, deferring to the one who'd caught up to her as though it was the alpha.

Not daring to wait around to see if they liked to play fetch, Buffy crawled back to her feet, one hand on her bleeding chin, and stumbled on.

"What are they waiting for?" said the foremost of Glory's goons, no doubt outraged that his hound dogs weren't already chowing down on her fashion-keen carcass.

"They seem perplexed by her strike, Murk," said another. "They will surely rally."

She heard more sounds of surprise and heckling from the squad of demon monks as they approached to prod the beasts into action. Her cut leg burned with each uneasy step, but she kept going, limping down an aisle of tombstones toward the larger mausoleums that could provide cover, give her a corner to fight from so they couldn't come at her from all sides.

Dashing around one of the larger vaults surrounded by foliage, she'd barely considered the idea of burrowing into the bushes in hopes that the hounds wouldn't be able to reach her when she caught a lungful of cigarette smoke and almost ran headlong into a solid body.

"Spike!"

"Slayer? What's wr—you're bleeding!"

Even with the panic and the unknown harmful substance laced through her body, Buffy felt a sliver of surprise at Spike's tone, that he seemed genuinely concerned, not smirking or taunting at her failure to emerge unscathed from an encounter. The bottle-blond vampire dropped his cigarette to the grass and crushed it out, eyes scouring the area she'd come running from.

"Somethin' after you, luv?"

"Spike." She licked her lips and realized how dry her throat was, already raw from screaming and panting. "We've g-got to go! R-run, now!"

"What's this purple muck all over your togs?"

"C-can't explain. Don't ask. Got to run."

"What the _bleedin'_ hell are those?!"

Spike's blue eyes nearly bugged out of his skull at the sight of the unearthly beasts lumbering around the mausoleum towards them, four sets of six paws slapping the ground in a steady, thunderous _thump-thump-thump-thump_.

"Run! Run! Run!" Buffy nearly sobbed, yanking on his coat lapels.

"Crypt. To my crypt!"

He seized her hand and tugged so strongly that she almost tripped on his legs before she managed to get her feet working again. But after only a few steps, she realized her cut leg had almost gone numb in the few moments of standing there, turned from feeling like a human limb into a heavy, severed tree trunk that had to be dragged across the turf.

 _Was it the poison? A venom on the barbs? Or maybe both? And now of all people I've dragged SPIKE into this!_

"Come on, Buffy!"

"C-can't! My leg!"

The dogs bounded toward them without hesitation this time, loping across the earth, forked tongues lolling out of fang-filled mouths.

Spike's gaze swiveled back and forth from the advancing creatures to Buffy's face, seeming to realize they were a hundred yards from the shelter of his crypt, and wouldn't make it, given the rate at which the monsters were closing in. She dazedly wondered how much of the liquid on her cheeks was sweat and how much were tears of fear.

"I'll carry you," he blurted, eyes zeroing in on her. "Come on!"

"N-no, I… I can make it."

"Slayer, you can barely walk!"

He turned around, yanking a switchblade from his duster pocket and facing off against the oncoming beasts, standing between them and Buffy.

"Run for it. I'll hold 'em off."

"Y-you can't. There're too many."

"Dammit, Slayer, run!"

She thought she didn't have any adrenaline left to amplify her panic, but at the fearful edge in Spike's voice, her body started shaking, the white-hot pain pumping through her system with such intensity that she almost passed out on the spot. She swayed, almost slumping into his back, clutching at his arm as her throbbing leg made her lose balance.

"Buffy?!"

Several hundred pounds of demonic mutt bowled into them with the force of a freight train. Buffy screamed as they hit the ground, Spike's torso on top of her, their limbs tangling. She heard his voice in her ear, furious and frightened in equal measure.

"Get up. Get up, Slayer! Fuckin' hell!"

All four of the slobbering demon hounds were on them before she could get her legs underneath her again, before she could even open her mouth for a last scream.

 _To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thank you to pfeifferpack, Wonder and Ashes, Amayuscula, magnus374, ginar369, fyreburned, solstice, Behind Blue Eyes, MsXGingerXNinja, Blue Eyes2, nepalichik, Isha_Rose, Mia Vann, dancer101, sweetprincipale, nojiri23, nea, and Lou (EF) and BookQ36, Spaztastical Maiden13, Cloongarvin, Svetocha, Vivi h88, RAGAnne, and TieDyeJackson (FF) for reviewing, along with anyone who has reviewed more recently than this list! Sorry for the long wait – I was focusing on_ Enemy's Heartstrings _during NaNo, and then the December challenge gave me another WIP to work on… and then I was on accidental hiatus._

 **She is the Sunlight**  
by AGriffinWriter

 **Chapter 2: Saved**

Her scream couldn't come out.

Or rather, her scream made no sound, muffled as it was by the black t-shirt her face was pressed into. One of Spike's hands was crushed against the back of her head, his body shielding her like a turtle shell. A fragile, edible turtle shell made of leather and cotton and flesh.

Blows buffeted him as the hounds circled and struck, knocking against him, biting him, clawing at him, unconcerned with the trouble it would take to rip him limb from limb in order to reach Buffy. With each blow, he swore and grunted roughly in her ear but didn't surrender.

Until his demon decided he'd had quite enough of submitting meekly to the pain.

Spike's face crunched into its mask of fangs and ridges, and he reared up like a bucking stallion, one hand still clutching her tightly against his torso. She saw him punch one of the creatures in the snout and heard his roar of agony as the serrated antennae-like feathers lashed into his skin. But he kept fighting, stabbing one in the throat with his switchblade, grabbing the largest hound by its antlers and driving the points into yet another one of the beasts, dark blood spraying everywhere. They whined in the same melancholic tone as regular dogs, except deeper and altogether eerier.

"Buffy! Slayer! Get up, Buffy!"

Her limbs were too heavy and shaking too fiercely to allow her to rise, so Spike stood over her, knocking the beasts back each time they charged.

"Get them!" shrieked the leader of the minions, running forward on his stumpy legs. "Get them! Kill them! In the name of the mighty Glorificus!"

"Shut up!" snarled Spike. He ripped the bloodied antlers out of the skull of the closest hound and chucked them towards the little flock of monk demons, who dove for cover in fear.

"Now, luv!" Spike hissed through pointed teeth, ducking down to Buffy's level. "Up you get."

He pulled on her elbow and hoisted her into his arms, one arm around her back and the other under her knees. She managed to lock her shaking arms around his neck and clung on. His leather coat was slick with blood, but in the darkness she couldn't tell if it belonged to her or him or the demon dogs.

He took off at a limping jog, jostling her as little as possible. Over his shoulder she could see the de-antlered mutt staggering around in pain, obstructing the path of the remaining three that were trying to give chase.

"Hold tight. Nearly there."

She couldn't nod with her head tucked so tightly against his throat, so she just clung tighter.

He smashed open the door of his crypt with his knee, lowered her to the floor, and dashed back to slam it just as two of the hounds slipped around their wounded companion and bolted toward them.

"Dammit!" growled Spike, his vampire features still controlling his blood-flecked face. He anchored the deadbolt on his door and stared wildly around the crypt, looking for something.

"Th-they won't hold! Spike, t-the door hinges won't hold!"

"I know, Slayer. You've kicked that door down plenty of times, an' each of those mutts must weight in at three hundred quid. We'll have to go underground. C'mon!"

Spotting what he'd been looking for, he seized his double-barreled shotgun up from the floor and pulled her toward the corner of the crypt. He shoved aside a slab on the floor between two coffins to reveal a trap door leading into darkness.

"Go, pet. I'm right behind you."

"I c-can't," she sobbed. Between her horrible fear, pain, and anger at having to rely on Spike, Buffy was surprised she could produce any words at all. She wouldn't blame him for leaving her to die…

"A'right," he shook his head, gritting his teeth. "I'll help you. It's safe. Together."

Arm back around her waist, Spike supported her against his body – against the chilling stickiness of his blood-soaked coat – and half-carried her down the ladder, wincing with each step. When they reached solid ground on the level below, he carefully set her on the stony floor.

"Let me seal it."

She could hear the demon hounds baying and clawing at the crypt door as Spike ascended back up the ladder and yanked the slab back into place. Complete darkness consumed them, and Buffy let out a petrified scream.

"Slayer!" came Spike's voice from just above her, and then his hands found her arms again. "Keep it down! Let me get a light…"

He let go, and she felt the brush of his coat as he moved away. She clutched for him, but the leather slipped through her shaking fingers. A second later, the flickering flame of his lighter illuminated the gaunt angles of his vampire face. He held the spurt of fire against a torch in a wall bracket, and as soon as the tinder ignited, he pocketed the lighter, hefted his gun in one hand, and drew out the torch with the other.

"Can you walk, Buffy? If we move quick enough, we can get through the tunnels and out to somewhere safe. Maybe Watcher's place."

"Giles," agreed Buffy, nodding tremulously. _He'll know what this poison slime is, what it's done to me_. "I'll try."

Whimpering with pain, she managed to draw her legs underneath her and tried to stand, but when she did, a white-hot prickly sensation shot through her veins, and she collapsed again. She could barely draw a full breath either, especially with the cloying scent of blood suffocating her.

"C-can't, Spike. I can't."

Maybe it was the glowing flicker of the torchlight, but everything in this cavern seemed to be tinted a violent red color, especially Spike, the sharp lines of his demon face highlighted with crimson, like war paint. She'd never seen him look more savage and monstrous… and she'd never had to rely on him so completely.

"H-help me. P-please."

He acted instead of answering, bending down to her and offering her the handle of his shotgun.

"Keep it in your right hand, pet. Then loop your left 'round my neck, that's it…"

She had to use both hands to lift the heavy long-barreled gun, and Spike nearly dropped the torch when she accidentally pulled him off-balance, but after a few seconds of adjustment they were both upright.

"Slowly now… one foot, then the other…"

The sounds of the vicious dogs grew loud again, and Buffy knew they had broken past the crypt door, nothing but a six-inch slab of stone between them and the predators. More tears of fear slid down her cheeks.

"Don't think. Don't stop," Spike urged in a hiss, as though he could read her fearful thoughts. "Through here."

With Spike's uplifted torch guiding them, the pair hobbled through rough-hewn pathways of rock and dirt. Buffy tried to keep quiet, muffling her gritted sounds of pain into the leather lapel that her head rested on, putting all her concentration on holding up the gun and keeping her feet moving, one after the other. Spike was letting out his fair share of grunts and groans with each step, plus a low litany of curses.

And then a small rock obstructed the path of Buffy's foot.

With a shriek of surprise, she fell forward onto the tunnel floor, dragging him with her.

The torch clunked against the ground, embers sparking up in a dusty cloud.

"No!" gasped Spike. Letting go of her, he scooped at the crumbling light, trying to keep the torch intact. Buffy smelled burning flesh.

"S-stop, you're h-hurting yourself," she whispered, one hand catching at his elbow, fingers slipping on the slick blood. "Y-you can see in the dark."

"You _can't_ ," he replied as though it was obvious. His face looked even more gaunt as the torch sputtered out its last few moments of existence… then extinguished completely.

Shaking with terror that threatened to paralyze her more effectively than the poison, Buffy blinked a few times, unable to hold onto the last image the light had given her – of Spike's concerned golden eyes. The afterimage only remained for a few seconds before darkness took over, and she gripped his arm with both hands, a near-panicked whimper rising in her ribcage like some living creature trying to get loose.

"Easy, Slayer, easy…"

She felt him adjusting, taking the gun from where it had smacked into the ground at her side, drawing her with him as he stood once more. This time he hoisted her into his arms like he'd done in the cemetery, using the gun to brace under her knees, his other arm supporting her back. She could tell he was shaking too, and he stepped unevenly, one stride longer and steadier than the other. But they were moving again.

The tunnels were far from uniformly constructed. Some sloped downward, some upward. In at least one of the paths they traversed, Buffy could hear Spike's boots splashing through fluid that she hoped was water, but was likely sewage in the best case scenario. From the way his body turned, she knew he must be choosing between paths and side-tunnels, but to her it was simply a featureless black landscape, nothing distinguishable to her.

"W-where are we? U-underneath, I mean?" she asked after several more minutes.

"The college." Half a dozen steps later, he stopped. "I think."

"Y-you think?"

"Doesn't smell like I remember. Got bloody turned around," he panted, neck swiveling as he looked back and forth, probably between two paths.

Buffy tried to wipe her sweaty, bloodied hair out of her face, hoping her scent wasn't screwing up Spike's sense of direction.

"C-can you hear them? Are they f-following us?"

"Can't tell… wait…"

Buffy held her breath, shaking and clinging to him in the complete darkness and silence, then…

"Shit," he hissed, adjusting his hold on her to make it more secure. "Shit, I hear 'em. Gotta keep going."

He pressed on, slogging through stinky mud in one tunnel, cobwebs in another. Buffy thought they were gradually rising, but she had no way of knowing for sure. Her limbs were still near-numb but tingling with stinging pain. Her eyes generated a steady stream of tears, as though the on-switch of her tear ducts had been stuck open. She could never seem to drag in a full breath, just half-wheezing rasps, attempting to keep her lungs working through the oppressive darkness.

Then, through the all-consuming gloom, somewhere down the tunnel ahead the darkness seemed a little grayer, a bit less black than everywhere else.

"L-light!" she stammered. "Oh g-god, there's light there, Spike."

"Hold tight," he nodded, and she clung on as his pace increased toward the light.

She could hear their pursuers now, gigantic paws thumping against the earth, rough barks and howls, and the shrill voices of the minion demons.

"They're c-coming! They're coming, Spike!"

"Don't bite my ear off, I know they're comin'!"

What felt like a hundred steps later they turned a sharp corner, and she could actually see the source of the illumination.

"Oh god…"

The pathway ended in a earthen wall with a single opening about the size of the television screen in Giles's apartment, barely twelve inches in diameter. They stumbled up to the wall and leaned against it, both of them panting. Through the hole, moonlight flooded a small cavern filled wall-to-wall with boxes, crates, and chests of treasure – the trove where Spike and Harmony had located the Gem of Amara over a year ago.

For all the good it did, it was a dead end.

 _To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thank you all for reviewing and for your patience with my frequent writing hiatuses (hiati?). I appreciate all the responses and feedback you've given me. Hope you enjoy!  
Since it's been a while, here's a recap – Buffy gets splashed with a potion that saps her strength. Glory's minions send antlered, six-legged hellhounds after her, and she runs into Spike while trying to escape. He defends her, and they both get bloodied up before he manages to get them inside his crypt. They head into the sewer tunnels, take some wrong turns, and end up at a dead end where all they can see is the Amara treasure trove through a small hole in the tunnel wall.  
Warning – more foul language from Spike. He's not having a good day. To compensate, I recommend listening to the song "Angel with a Shotgun" by The Cab while reading this chapter._

 **She is the Sunlight**  
by AGriffinWriter

 **Chapter 3: Sheltered**

"FUCK IT ALL!" Spike swore at the top of his lungs, fangs flashing in a snarl. He dumped Buffy and his shotgun on the ground and began punching and clawing savagely at the earth around the opening, trying to widen it.

Moving as quickly as her feeble limbs could move, Buffy pressed herself tightly against the dirt wall, one hand at her face to deflect the small chunks of earth Spike was chipping away, clump by clump, pebble by pebble. Her entire body throbbed with the pain of innumerable cuts and bruises and bumps, and she _desperately_ wanted to just curl up into the fetal position and lose consciousness. Only the fearful trembling in her limbs as the sounds of their pursuers grew continually louder kept her from passing out.

"S-Spike!" she sobbed, tugging at his pant leg as the demons behind them rounded the last corner of the long tunnel and came charging toward them, a frenzy of cackling goblins and yelping, blood-thirsty hellhounds. "Oh god, oh god—"

"Get in!" he yelled, ducking down to seize the shotgun. He leveled it at the small horde, took a steadying breath, and fired.

A spray of buckshot pelted down the tunnel and splattered into the leading hound, blood blossoming where every miniature bullet struck. Their hunters all came to a halt, crashing into one another as those behind the injured demon dog barreled into it.

"I said GET IN!" Spike shouted again, gripping Buffy's bicep in one hand and hauling her back to her feet. He pitched her forward, shoving her into the passageway he'd hacked slightly wider than it had been when they'd reached it. It was still too narrow to traverse, and sharp roots and stones mixed in with the earthen wall scratched her arms and face as she was forced inside.

"Spike!" she shrieked, desperately reaching out to grip the opposite edge of the hole in the wall, fingers slipping on the dirt. It seemed to taper narrower the further she went.

His hands kept pushing.

"Go! Through! The Fuckin'! Hole!" he growled, emphasizing each word with a shove to her legs.

Like a cork exiting a bottle, Buffy suddenly popped through, letting out a scream as she fell to the ground on the inner side of the wall. She half-staggered, half-crawled a couple feet away and braced herself against a crate overflowing with shiny gems and coins.

"Spike… Spike!" She whipped around, gazing through the opening to the blackness of the tunnel. "S-Spike, come on!"

 _Don't stay out there. Don't get killed. Don't leave me alone to die. Please…_

The shotgun bellowed again, and she stumbled back to the opening. She saw him ripping off his damaged duster and moved aside just in time for him to stuff the coat through the hole to her side.

"Pockets! Ammo's there!"

"What? I don't know how to load a _shotgun_!"

She heard an almighty _THUMP_ and then a cacophony of howls, and guessed that Spike had brained one of the demon dogs in the head with the butt end of the gun.

"Stop him! Stop him!" yelped the scabby monk leader, barely audible over the hounds baying. "Get him! Don't let him escape!"

The gun came sailing through the opening in the dirt, and with considerable grunting and swearing, Spike began to follow it. The moment she saw his pale hand she seized it, leaning back and using all her body weight to pull on him.

"Come on, Spike! Faster!"

"Tryin'!"

"You got _me_ through!"

"Ow! Bleedin' hell, woman, you'll rip my arm out!"

His shoulders were the toughest part to squeeze through, but a moment after that he tumbled out on top of her, a blur of ivory skin and black fabric and scarlet blood. He let out a deep groan of pain upon landing – his breath chilling against the side of her face – but almost immediately lifted himself back up, scrambled to his coat, and started reloading the shotgun.

"W-what happened?" she demanded, shaking fingers gripping tight to his blood-slicked arm. _He's here. Someone's here. I'm not alone. I may be almost bleeding to death in a cavern I can't escape, but I'm not alone._

"Bashed one of their brains in," Spike panted through gritted teeth. "Managed to block half the tunnel with the body. It's the only thing that kept 'em from catchin' up to me."

"H-how long will it hold them?"

"Dunno." His sharp blue eyes darted around the cavern. "See if you can find a way out. Or somethin' to plug it up."

Snapping the shotgun closed, he lurched back to his feet but instantly crumpled, swearing viciously again. On the second attempt, he managed to brace his body against the wall and fit the shotgun though the opening.

 _Bang!_ Demons and dogs alike shrieked with pain.

"Yeah, that's right!" Spike shouted. "Back to whatever stinking hellhole you came from!"

He fired off the shotgun once more, then drew it back and began to shove loose rocks and clods of earth back into the hole they had scrambled through.

Buffy sat panting, still struggling to remain conscious as she watched him work. She took a moment to look around, but aside from a lot of gaudy treasure and a large hole in the ceiling through which the moonlight was streaming, there was nothing noteworthy in the small cavern.

"Surrender the Slayer, vampire!" demanded the head minion, speaking through the shrinking hole in the wall. "Or the wrath of the mighty Glorificus will be swift and merciless!"

"You can tell your bitch of a mistress to piss the hell off," snapped Spike, too focused on his task to give much strength to the retort.

The evil hobbits gasped and squeaked with horror that he could be so glib about their worshipped one. As weary as she was, Buffy could hear them muttering to themselves on the other side of the dirt wall.

"He is a fool, a madman, to dishonor the unholy Glorificus."

"Indeed," said a second monk demon. "There is nothing but death for him with the Slayer. Unless… perhaps he intends to copulate with her."

"Go fuck yourselves," Spike spat at them, smearing dirt between rocks to hold them in place. The hole was now so small that Buffy didn't know if the shotgun would fit through it, but maybe it wasn't Spike's intention to shoot at them. Or maybe he was out of ammo. Or maybe it was broken. Or maybe they were just dawdling until the hounds charged through the roughly repaired wall and ripped them both to pieces.

She started shaking from head to toe, teeth chattering, heart pounding so loudly that it felt as though hammers were ringing against all sides of her head.

"This is your final warning! Surrender the Slayer."

"Bloody will not."

"You are not safe with her, vampire. Her strength will return 'ere the sun rises."

A brief, tearful grin lit up Buffy's face. _I'll be okay. My strength will come back… before sunrise, I'll be back in action_. _Unless I bleed out before then_ … _Crap._

"Then you sackcloth midgets better scramble, get yourselves a nice head start."

With that, he flipped off the demon with his middle finger, then _repeated_ the gesture using both his middle and index finger – presumably to make sure it got the idea, regardless of how obscene gestures worked in hell dimensions – and then stuffed a final rock into the hole through which they had been communicating. Even with her enhanced hearing, Buffy could no longer distinguish any words from the monk demons, just a faint mumbling and growling from whatever hounds were still mobile.

Content that they were blocked from the sight or hearing of Glory's goons, Spike set his back against the cave wall and slid to the ground, his groan stifled by clenched fangs.

"Spike?" whimpered Buffy, suddenly fearful. He was a bloody mess. His legs were in just as bad a shape as hers felt, though it was slightly hard to tell due to all the hounds' blood peppering his body. The back of his hair and neck were caked red, half-coated in dirt.

"S-Spike?" she sobbed when he didn't answer the first time, or move in any way. "Y-you… you can't leave m-me. You hear m-me? I-if you t-turn to dust, I'll kill you! S-S-Spike?!"

His golden eyes opened as her voice turned shrill with panic.

"W'the hell are you on about?"

He sounded almost amused, even if it was probably a mask for the pain he was in. But even feigned merriment was too much for Buffy.

She broke, crumpling in on herself like a matchstick tower losing its supports. Face on her knees, arms around her head, she started sobbing from the fear and adrenaline and pain and claustrophobia and the utter helplessness of her entire situation. Every haunting nightmare of re-experiencing the symptoms of the power-stripping drug that Giles had secretly administered to her during the week of her eighteenth birthday came rushing to her mind with vicious intensity. She thought her lungs would come hurtling out of her body with each breath, or perhaps the contents of her stomach would beat them to it.

Her stomach won the race, and between the next two sobs she retched onto the dirt.

"Buffy…"

To her surprise, there was genuine pity in his voice. As she began to tip sideways, strong cold arms encircled her, drawing her face against something hard and sticky, yet simultaneously soft and smooth. _His chest?_ she thought dizzily as Spike began murmuring comfort into her ear.

"Slayer… shh, shh, easy now, it's alright. Luv, you've got to stop cryin'. Dunno if they can still hear us."

She tried to cut her next sob short but only started coughing, her throat seemingly recoiling from the taste of her sick. His arms loosened slightly to make sure she had enough room to breathe.

"Please, Slayer, gotta pull it together. Breathe easy, luv. C'mon, now. It'll be alright. You heard what the slimy imp said, didn't you? Strength'll be back before the sun's up. Besides, what the bloody hell 'm I s'posed to do if you pass out on me? Couldn't pick up a kitten right now, state I'm in."

Getting a mental image of his words, she snorted, her sob turning into a hiccup-y giggle.

"That's it," he encouraged. His hands moved with impossible gentleness, smoothing her sweaty, blood-sticky hair away from her face. She let him hold her, her throbbing head resting against his chest. After several minutes, when her cries had finally quieted to a slow sniffle, she heard the rustling of his leather coat, and then he held out a small silver flask.

"Bit of liquid courage, Slayer?"

Anything would be better than the taste in her mouth. Nodding shakily, Buffy took the flask and tipped just enough to swallow. It stung in her throat, but lessened the acidic bile taste in her mouth.

"Thanks," she mumbled, returning the flask.

"No trouble." He downed a generous mouthful, then resealed the flask's lid. "Why d'you smell like aged cheddar, kitten?"

"They h-had a strength-zapping p-potion thing."

"Got the drop on you, did they?"

She nodded, which was apparently his signal to lean back, glancing cautiously at her face, her limbs, as though she would meltdown at any second and resume bawling.

Slowly – more slowly than she'd ever seen before, and certainly never this close up – his bloodied face blended from the ridged vampire scowl into his human features, his forehead smoothing out, fangs retracting into his gums, golden eyes blinking back to their usual blue.

He smiled one of those tight, strained smiles that appear on someone's face when they're trying desperately to keep from curling into the fetal position and breaking apart.

"Never seen you cry so much," he said nervously. "Not even last month when your mum was ill. Are you in a lot of pain, luv?"

"N-not so much now," she lied. Every inch of her body ached and stung and smarted. "M-metabolism must be working it out."

He leaned back against the wall again, and they sat, silent except for their ragged panting breaths and Buffy's soft sniffling of pain. She wiped her palm against her tear-stained cheeks.

"I… um… th-thank you, Spike. I'd be dead if you hadn't… been there."

"Bloody right," he muttered, still wearing that pain-hiding grin. With his eyes closed again, it looked more like the grimace it really was.

"You saved my life. I… um… I don't know if I would have done the same for you."

His eyes opened in surprise, a snort of laughter escaping his throat. She saw a sparkle of pain-induced wetness masking the blue and couldn't imagine how he was keeping it together so well. When he'd thrown himself over her at the hounds' initial attack, he'd taken the brunt of their claws to his back and head. _Why_ , she couldn't imagine.

"Thanks for the honesty, Goldilocks. I'll keep that in mind the next time a pack of six-legged hellbeasts are breathin' down my neck."

He lifted his coat gingerly, poking his finger through one of the holes ripped open by the hound's claws. Buffy couldn't help but notice that the skin on his hands was also split in multiple places, and there was blood continuing to trickle from his platinum hair down the side of his neck.

"Fittin'. Slayer's duster couldn't go out without a fight. Ah, well. There's a demon tanner in town. Knows all the tricks to make leather right as rain again."

"My boots and coat are ruined too." She rubbed at her stinging chin, and her hand came away sticky with blood.

"Here, luv."

Wincing, he untucked his t-shirt from inside his belt and ripped a small piece off the hem, then handed it to her.

"Thanks." She dabbed at her aching face with the piece of black cloth. "I think I hit my chin when I fell, right before I ran into you. What about you? How bad?"

"I've had worse." He shrugged, then winced again.

"You… you have?"

"Sure, pet. Spent nearly twenty years with Angelus, bein' put in my place."

She flinched at the thought. Her experience with Angelus had lasted only a couple of months… and she had the sickening suspicion that the cruelty he'd displayed then had been _tame_ compared to the recorded atrocities he'd committed during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. That awareness had colored her interactions with Angel all throughout her senior year.

"Still got all my bits," Spike continued, looking worried by her expression. "Should be able to suss our way out of this, somehow."

"There's nothing," Buffy shook her head, but quickly stopped when the motion made her dizzy. "No other entrance."

"Bugger. The spot where I drilled up into here must've caved in," he mumbled. "Should've figured, what with the number of earthquakes in this part of the country. Pro'ly what opened up that gap in the ceiling." He gestured upward at the opening allowing moonlight to illuminate most of their surroundings. "I'll have a hell of a time when the sun rises."

"Maybe… maybe you can crawl out the top. Save yourself before the sun comes."

"I'm not leavin' you, Buffy. Not even sure I _could_ climb up there, not with the state of my legs."

"Do… do you think _they_ can get in through it? If they… smell us, or something?"

Her brain treated her to an image of the massive six-legged hounds scuttling down from the ceiling like canine spiders, and her entire body shuddered, another couple of tears leaking down her cheeks.

"Dunno. Likely take 'em a while to find their way out of the sewers again. With any luck, it'll be sunup by them. Well, luck for _you_ , not me."

"You could hide under your coat and mine. Or maybe if you stand at the edge of the wall, the sunlight won't reach you."

"Got a few hours to mull it over." He rubbed at a sore spot in his arm, then glanced at Buffy again. "You're… you're bleedin' an awful lot, pet."

"Sorry." She looked around, hoping that somewhere in this treasure trove there was some kind of throne or cushion or something remotely chair-like to sit comfortably on. Even though it lacked escape routes, she was grateful that their cavern was roomie, not crushing and claustrophobic. "I'll… I'll move over, so you don't have to smell it as much."

He blinked his perplexed ' _are you daft?_ ' sort of look.

"That's not why I brought it up, Slayer. 'M worried 'bout you. Doesn't look like your cuts are scabbing up. Did you think I wanted a taste?" he asked in disbelief. "I didn't sample those hurt people at the Bronze, did I? You saw me."

"No… you didn't. I don't know. Slayer blood? Isn't that supposed to be extra tempt-y?"

Spike rolled his eyes, no doubt at her butchering of the English language.

"Be a bit of a let down to spend all that effort fendin' off the creatures tryin' to rip you into pretty little bits, only to turn on you myself. Blood's not as allurin' if it's not rightly won."

"Say… why _did_ you help me?" she muttered, nudging herself into a more upright position against the wall. "If you hate me so much, why didn't you just let them snack on me?"

Spike's mouth dropped open, his forehead furrowing in dismay.

"I… I _don't_ hate you, Slayer. Certainly not enough to hand you over to those guttersnipes an' their tea poodles."

"But you hated me enough to show me Riley in that place."

He shook his head sharply, and more blood ran down the side of his neck.

"I didn't show you Soldier Boy because I hated you, luv. God, I did it because you deserved to know. He was a piss-poor excuse for a man, steppin' out on you while your mum was in hospital, gettin' his rocks off elsewhere."

Buffy couldn't decide whether to scowl or sigh in response, so she tried to combine them, letting out a grumbly-sounding moan. Her brain was struggling to reconcile the Spike who typically loafed around mocking her while she patrolled… with the Spike who had unquestionably just risked his life to save hers.

"I still don't get why you care. What did it matter to you if he was… cheating on me?"

"Because he was a borin' asshole who didn't deserve you," the vampire growled, eyes on his own hands. "Even _before_ he started loanin' himself out as a vendin' machine for toothless vampires."

"What makes you the judge of what I do or don't deserve?"

"Bloody hell! Is this my reward for savin' your life? Twenty questions? Any dolt with half a brain could see he wasn't worthy of you, Slayer. Hell, he only had a quarter of a brain, and he bloody well sussed out that he wasn't enough to keep you interested. Why else do you think he blundered around avoidin' the surgery, lettin' his heart nearly pop? Couldn't risk bein' _normal_ , couldn't handle the fact that you're stronger, more powerful…"

 _If that's what I wanted, then I'd be dating Spike!_

Her own words rocketed through her brain. The day they'd discovered Riley's accelerating heart condition, the day she'd had to beg him – plead with him that she wouldn't abandon him the moment he lost the impact of Professor Walsh's drugged-up experiments – the day Spike had attempted to have his chip removed…

The chip…

A jolt of realization suddenly made Buffy shiver, as though the temperature in the cave had changed from that of a typical Southern California night to an arctic tundra.

In order to get her though the hole in the tunnel wall, Spike had forcibly pushed her through the gap, which had been both uncomfortable and downright painful. Her forearms still bore scratches from numerous little rocks and scratchy roots embedded in it, and she was fairly certain she had bruises on her legs from his urgently pressing hands. But he had persisted, shoving and heaving until she'd popped through. And not once had he given any indication that his chip was activating.

Even if he _had_ just saved her life, what was there to stop him from turning on her now?

 _To be continued…_


End file.
